


Brutalities

by InterNutter



Series: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling [4]
Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Abortion, F/M, Gossip, Lost Love, Racism, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterNutter/pseuds/InterNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love in times of war is never easy. Especially with a family on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brutalities

Disclaimer: Steam Powered Giraffe and all characters in their lore belong to the Bennetts. I just do weird things to them in prose.

Brutalities

InterNutter

  Mrs Madelaine did not have six brothers. Iris did. She deflected the cup, its contents, and Mrs Madelaine in one very practiced movement and had the woman in a half-nelson and a headlock without even thinking about it.  
  "I must ask you that you don't try that again, Cookie," she said very calmly. More calmly than she should have felt on the occasion of someone trying to poison her. "I took a chance employing you, as you recall. I would hate to release you into the world as the woman not even Walter Manor would employ."  
  "I'm only trying to help you, damnit! What if he doesn't come back?"  
  "Should he either abandon us or perishes in the war... then I will regrettably drink the tea. Should he tell me he no longer wishes my company or my child, then, too. But, Mrs Madelaine... it is not for you alone to decide what is to be done. Do we have an understanding?"  
  "Let me go, curse you!"  
  "*Do* we have an understanding?"  
  Sigh. "Yes. I think you're making a great and grievous error, but yes. We have an understanding."  
  Iris let her go. "I recommend a hot plaster for the muscular pain." In the cold heart of logic, she gathered the teapot and emptied, then washed it out. "I'll keep this incident to myself, so long as you keep any mention of my... predicament... to *your*self."  
  "Understood," Cookie grumbled. "You do know that word will get out anyway. It will ruin your good reputation."  
  "In case you haven't noticed, I hardly have one, any more."  
  
  It took the better part of a month to reach Africa and Egypt. Peter bade his four boys pilot the giant mechanical giraffe, Delilah. The rest of the multitude were well-armed ground troops against Becile's zombie-driven copper elephants.  
  He planned to stay in the giraffe's belly, where the emergency repairs could be conducted in a pinch. But he didn't embark on his journey without sending an urgent missive back to San Diego as fast as it could go. This was no matter for a telegram that anyone could read. It had to be sent in an envelope.  
  Sealed with a kiss.  
  He'd written it barely a day out to sea, regretting his decision to be formal with poor darling Miss Iris. He had foolishly thought to spare her reputation further ignominy. But the look on her face had told him that he'd done everything exactly wrong.  
  
  Cookie remained frosty towards her. Iris took over dear Peter's office and spent a majority of her time in the middle of paperwork. Meals came care of Bobby, who would sample some on his way up.  
  Iris didn't mind. She had always been routinely kind to Bobby, and he was kind in return. Testing her food for any incidental additives Cookie might add.  
  Somehow, Bobby had heard.  
  She had gradually loosened, then forgot to put on her corset in her self-enforced isolation from the outside world.  
  There was no news from Africa. She expected none. All news travelled at the speed of a steamer, and the best news of all would be another month coming back, at best.  
  Wars took time.  
  Lunch arrived with a letter. Addressed to her and in dear Peter's hand. It was the arrival of such that earned Bobby a generous hug and a kiss on his brow.  
  Only once he was gone did she read it.  
  
  My darling Iris.  
  Forgive me, please forgive me, for that preposterous display of cold civility when I left you on that dock. I foolishly believed to rescue your standing amongst your peers by acting so distantly. Know now that my feelings for you are without ebb. Whatever you wish in recompense, I shall supply it upon my return.  
  And I do promise to return, my darling. If there is any kind of just and righteous governing power of the universe, I shall return. No power but the divine would possibly stop me.  
  I remain your humble servant,  
  Peter.  
  
  She read it five times. Stopped only because of the tears in her eyes. All this time believing that he had forgotten her! All this time... believing that their time together had been a time of weakness.  
  All this time fearing that he didn't love her.  
  He still might not remember her, when he came back.  
  If he came back.  
  No church made her welcome since the news about the kiss got about. But that didn't stop her praying. A kind and just God would not see her child born a bastard. A kind and just God would not let someone so loved as Peter die.  
  She had to believe.  
  She had no other choice.  
  Two days later, she got the telegram.  
  _Arriving at port tomorrow. Wish to see you there. P._  
  The handfull of words sent her into a flurry. Washing and ironing and fussing and trying to discretely tighten a corset that didn't want to fit. She selected the loosest shirt to wear over a dress that no longer fastened properly.  
  She would not longer seem to be fit, very shortly, for public view.  
  But, today, Peter was coming back to her.  
  Her future and her reputation could flap in the wind, for all she cared.  
  
  Peter found her by her green shirt. Standing on the docks. The war had been short, but it had been hell. He still had nightmares about green fire and emotionless automatons charging headlong into peril.  
  The generic machines from the factory had no emotional attachment to anyone or anything. They had no reason to live. And only reason to fight.  
  They had no reason to defend themselves or their identical siblings.  
  His first four did.  
  They tried to help the multitude. Peter had seen the four go to extraordinary lengths to try. All for nothing.  
  All of the metal wreckage from Egypt was coming back to Walter Metals in another boat. A slower boat. The less his boys saw of the mechanical carnage, the better.  
  They were already too quiet. Too still.  
  "There's Ma," said The Spine. "Rabbit? Do you see?"  
  Rabbit had not spoken much since his lower jaw had come loose. Nor had his eyes quite quit leaking oil. The sight of dear Iris waiting on the docks did, however, make the copper automaton straighten and look less weary.  
  Three days of war. And his poor boys were scarred for the rest of their existence.  
  "I want my hands back," said Three. "But fix baby brother first?"  
  "Yes," Peter whispered. "All in good time."  
  First things first.  
  He escorted the boys down the gangplank and let them go ahead to the coach.  
  Iris looked up at him, her brow crinkled in worry. "Peter... You look like hell..."  
  "I feel like hell," he answered. And scooped her up into his arms. The smell of her skin. The dimensions of her in his arms. He could easily get drunk on the closeness of her. "All better for seeing you again."  
  She held him back. Tight. Trembling. "We have to talk. Soon."  
  "Soon. Soon. The boys need us. I need a hot bath and a soft bed. And you. Always you."  
  Their mouths drank of each other in desperate thirst, but they kept it to a gasping kiss before they, too, entered the carriage.  
  
  Iris sat between Rabbit and Three. Darling Peter between The Spine and Four. All metal brothers still literally bristling with weaponry. Save for poor, dented and burned Four, who concealed his in the vortex behind his hatch.  
  The Spine and Rabbit no longer had wholly blue eyes, any more. Spine's optics were green. And one of Rabbit's eyes fluttered between green and blue, but the other remained solidly green.  
  Three, his arms replaced with vicious things, snuggled his cheek against her shoulder and mumbled, "Home, home, goin' home. Home again, home again... safe and sound."  
  The rocking of the carriage and the knowledge of those dearest to her close and coming home in one piece conspired together to drag her down into slumber. She fought to stay awake. Struggled to speak... yet she kept nodding in-between visions of darling Peter's scruffy, smiling face beaming at her in unadulterated adoration.  
  There was no birdsong chatter amongst the brothers.  
  Iris swore that if there was, she would be asleep all the sooner.  
  "Query," said The Spine. "How can you power down with three cores?"  
  She blinked muzzily at him. "I don't understand, dear."  
  "Humans have cores, too. All have one." He put his elbow over darling Peter's chest. Lest he touch his Pappy with one of his weapons. "We hear, 'bump t'bump'."  
  "It's a heart, for us. Yes. Humans have hearts. They keep us going."  
  "I understand. One heart, keeps humans going. So why do you have three? Why does it make you less going?"  
  She frowned. "What?"  
  Rabbit copied The Spine's gesture. Indicating Iris' heart. "One is here. Bump t-t-t'bump. Two d-do-down here," the elbow indicated her lower abdomen. "Very fast. Pitta pitta p-p-p-pitta pitta."  
  "Two?"  
  "Yahuh. Two. We he-he-hear g-good."  
  Well. That explained a great deal.  
  Darling Peter was staring in slack-jawed shock.  
  Iris blushed. "Remember I said how the act of conjugal relations can make more humans?" she began. The automatons nodded. "It... definitely worked. Between your Pappy and I."  
  Darling Peter stared. He had seemingly forgotten to blink. Or breathe.  
  "Peter?" she risked.  
  The only movement he made was due entirely to the rocking of the carriage.  
  "Peter dear, I did want to break it to you gently, but... the automatons... I'm so sorry..."  
  His dear blue eyes began to roll back and he startled himself into breathing again. His mouth worked like he wanted to form words, but couldn't.  
  Tears sprang up in her eyes. Clouded her view of him. "Please don't think ill of me? Cookie said I should have poisoned them out of me, but I couldn't bear t--*" Sob. "Not without you knowing. Never withou--*"  
  Someone had a kerchief for her. Four.  
  The Spine was gently jostling dear Peter. "Speak, sir. Don't make Ma cry?"  
  Peter took a deep breath. "...babies..."  
  For some reason, that just made her cry harder. "Jus' say th' word," she snivelled. "I'll... take care of... things..."  
  Warm hands on hers. Dear Peter kneeling in the footwell. "Miss Iris Tonia. I am about to say two words that I should have uttered four long months ago, and I pray you forgive their delay."  
  She winced. Cringed. Braced herself for a sound, "You're fired."  
  But instead, came the words, "Marry me?"  
  She was so prepared for the worst that she blurted, "I'll need two weeks to pack my things and ready my pa-- Wait. What?"  
  "Marry me. As soon or as late as you wish. We could go to the church today. Or any number of churches. A woman of your inestimable qualities should never need cry again. Say 'yes', dear Iris. Complete my joy."  
  She swore her heart stopped. "Oh yes. In an instant, were circumstances otherwise. Oh, my darling..." She swept him up in an awkward tangle of an embrace. Kissed him fervently through her unstoppable tears. "But you know how difficult twins can be for a mother."  
  His happy mein faded. It was like watching clouds cover the sun. "Oh. Yes. I've attended..." a glance at his boys. "Certain... dreadful lectures."  
  "I'll not have anyone say I tricked you. Or trapped you. I'll wait for a safe birth and remain engaged until then."  
  "And not one day more," he vowed.  
  
  Priorities.  
  Always priorities.  
  Peter made sure the boys had their hands back, but, with a mind on their need for defence, he made sure they had at least one weapon that could be made ready, should they need it. Working out the mechanisms took most of his time.  
  And then there was the matter of automatonic triage. The boys had no idea. The one who needed the most help should have got it first, but the boys... Those dear, sweet boys... They insisted Four got himself patched up first. Then Three. Then The Spine.  
  And finally, at last, the one who should have been repaired first. Rabbit.  
  "You took a lot more fire than you needed to, dear boy," he murmured accusingly while poor Iris napped on the cot. In fact, he'd witnessed Rabbit trying to help his younger brothers more often than attempting to fight off the elephants and green-matter zombie hordes. And when Rabbit was down, The Spine would take his place. Guarding the others. Protecting the others. Drawing or taking fire.  
  Both of the twins were more damaged than they should have been.  
  "O' course I di-did," said Rabbit. "I'm th' eld-d-d-d-dest. Gotta protect my younger bro-bro-brothers."  
  Peter opened his plates. Replaced broken gears. Patched frayed cables. Checked welds and field repairs. And, when all the internals were humming along to his satisfaction, hammered out the dents. And re-attached his poor jaw.  
  "Feeling better? I'm afraid I can't permanently dispel the stammer."  
  "I don't mi-mind, Pappy," Rabbit smiled. "Now p-people can tell if it's me or Th' Spine t-talkin' to 'em."  
  If he was mad enough to plan a next time, he would have to ensure than any generic automatons would gain some kind of emotional involvement. A sense of self-preservation. A need to help preserve others.  
  So very, very many had fallen in Egypt for no good reason.  
  He should wake dear Iris. He should make an announcement to the household staff.  
  But right at this instant? She looked too sweet to dare disturb.  
  So he spooned onto the cot, beside her, and snugged her up under one arm. Inhaled her intoxicating scent, and began to sink into the first sound sleep he'd achieved since the last time he had shared a bed with her.  
  Rabbit was still watching. "You -uh- you want me to leave?"  
  "Hmmm," he managed. "We won't be doing much, I don't think." He closed his eyes and took in a lungful of dear Iris. How had he never noticed her glorious smell before? "Just cuddling in our sleep."  
  Rabbit nodded and crept out. "Night-night Pappy. Night-night Ma."  
  Iris roused enough to mumble out a, "...mnn-nnh..."  
  "Don't make too much trouble, eh?" Peter yawned. Shut his eyes. Snuggled closer into her and *sniffed*.  
  
  Cookie did not know what to make of Four. He would eat, oh yes, but he could also produce anything and everything from that hatch of his. For a war machine, he certainly wanted to make himself useful. And, judging by the endless sandwiches he produced for Three, he could not only be an army, but also feed an army.  
  And he seemed endlessly fascinated by the process of cooking.  
  "Hey Three! Time for le-lessons!"  
  "YEAH! I'm gonna learn a mandolin," Three cheered as he skipped away. "Bye Four!"  
  "Bye. Bye." Four sounded a little sad at being left out, and absently ate the sandwich that Three had forgotten.  
  Cookie kept chopping vegetables. Working out her frustrations on helpless plant matter.  
  "What you do?" said Four.  
  "Chopping spuds. You want to help?"  
  "Yes please."  
  Used to the other three, she slowed her motions as if she were showing a child.  
  "That is not how you do be-fore," said the machine. He showed her an embarrassingly accurate version of her own movements. Without the knife or the vegetables.  
  "That's not how you should do it," she said. "This way is the proper way."  
  "Why you not do prop-er way?"  
  Sigh. In this, at least, four was just like his metal brothers. "I'm... cross about something that's been bothering me. Something that's none of my business in the end. I shouldn't let it bother me, but..."  
  "You are still both-ered."  
  "Yes."  
  Four gently pushed her away from the vegetables. "The wrong way is dan-ger-ous. I will chop. I can not be harmed."  
  Cookie boggled at him. "You were designed for war..."  
  "And now the war is passed and ov-er. I did not like it an-y way. I felt bet-ter find-ing food in my hatch for all the hun-gry peo-ple." It got on with chopping vegetables the proper way. "They were hap-py. I like hap-py."  
  She stared. A war machine that didn't like war. Just like its 'father'. "There's more of your brothers in you than you think," she said.  
  The comical moustache tweaked into a smile. "Thank you, Miss-us Cook-ie."  
  "Just Cookie. Thanks."  
  "I do not un-der-stand. Cook-ie is lit-tle treat. You are per-son. Per-sons need hon-or-if-ic. It is po-lite."  
  "My name is Mrs Madelaine. And Cookie is both a name *and* an honorific."  
  Four considered this as he processed vegetables. "Hu-mans are strange."  
  She found herself laughing. "Yes. I must agree."  
  
  Two days after he found a ring for her amongst the family antiques, her fingers grew to plump to wear it properly. Therefore, the sparkling ring now did its sparkling from a chain around her neck. Which she touched often.  
  Announcements of their engagement went in all the papers and the rumours started flying worse than mortar shells.  
  Iris was illogically glad of her confinement. She didn't have to listen to any of it. She could sit or knit or stroll the expansive manor grounds without so much as one harsh word finding her ear. It was all so luxuriously relaxing that she almost found herself wishing she could be expectant forever.  
  Almost.  
  There was always an automaton in her peripheral vision. One of the four brothers was always there. Watching her. Twitching every time she rubbed her swelling belly or sighed or - heaven forfend - show any slight lilt towards the neighbourhood of pain.  
  The boys had got it into their collective heads that growing two babies was more dangerous than it really was.  
  But then, they weren't far wrong.  
  She just wished they had some kind of idea about when she would actually need any kind of help. Or what to do if she needed it.  
  At least they went back to their normal business when Peter was nearby.  
  Most of the time.  
  Peter rushed up to her. His face a portrait of barely-concealed rage and extreme upset. He didn't stop until he wrapped himself around her and begged, "How do you stand it? How do you *stand* it?"  
  She embraced him back. Soothed his hair. "I take it you overheard the rumour mill."  
  "Accidentally-on-purpose, I have no doubt," he murmured into her hair. "I have never in my life... I swear... felt so intently like punching out the entirety of San Diego. How *do* you stand it?"  
  In answer, she kissed him softly on his lips. Felt him relax. Felt him melt. Pulled back from his happily dazed face. "First, I had you to come back to. Second, I was always aware of my truth. And truth shall always defeat lies."  
  "I bow to your superior wisdom, dear lady."  
  She stifled a grunt, lest -who was it?- Three come running and just add to the chaos. "Sadly, I must sit. Again."  
  He lead her to the nearest bench. "Nothing... untoward?"  
  "Just the expected aches and twinges," she reassured. "Growing a new human is tough work. Two at once is twice as hard." She sighed and sank into the bench. "Twice the weight. Twice the growing. Twice the pressure. Twice the demands..." Now she sank into him. Snuggled against his shoulder. "I'm surprised I'm not twice as hungry and twice as tired."  
  He chuckled. "Perhaps you're twice as strong as you think you are."  
  "I'd have to be, to deal with this mad-house."  
  "And the chief madman?" he suggested.  
  "Of course the chief madman."  
  His arm snaked around her. Caressed her troublesome bump. "And my two little mad-lings, I have no doubt."  
  "Those too. God be willing."  
  "We need someone who can at least seem sane to do the shopping," he said at last. "Or get it delivered. Though we can't completely retreat from the world."  
  "I'd like to," she sighed. "Keep away from all the hatred. Hide from everything they say. Make ourselves a paradise."  
  "You know they'd only talk more."  
  "Let them," she said. "Let them talk until their tong--*" Iris gasped. Her hand flew from his chest to her growing middle.  
  "Trouble?"  
  Three came running. "Pleasetellmeitisn'tsomethinggoingwrong, pleasema?"  
  "I can feel them," she whispered. "I can feel them moving around. Flutter flutter flutter..."  
  
  Did you hear?  
  She's in the *family* way!  
  Did you hear?  
  She *claims* it's his.  
  Did you hear?  
  Someone said it's twins.  
  I hope that slattern dies in childbirth.  
  Did you hear?  
  They've got the cook and that lady coachman with the monster arm doing all the fetching for them.  
  Did you hear?  
  They daren't show their faces in *decent* company.  
  Small wonder, considering what's been going on in that house.  
  Everyone *knows* those dirty Paddies can't keep their legs shut.  
  Did you hear?  
  At least they have those mechanical men walking around with clothes on.  
  Did you hear?  
  They fought a whole war - naked as a jay bird!  
  Well, they are machines. Do you dress your automobile?  
  Naked, I tell you!  
  
  Rabbit carried the groceries for Cookie. Careful to avoid the crowds of staring children and not drop the bags at the same time.  
  Small humans liked to try and tangle his legs.  
  Then he saw her. And he couldn't concentrate on walking any more.  
  She was *beautiful*.  
  Something inside kicked into gear. Pulsed oil around his systems and made the whole world feel fifty times nicer.  
  It went, THOMB-OMP!  
  All he could do was stare.  
  At *Her*.  
  Her name was Jenny. He could tell. It was writ right there on her bright red exterior.  
  JNE.  
  In beautiful, ornate letters.  
  The thunderous THOMB-OMP!ing literally rocked him as he stared, slack-jawed and full of curious new feelings, at Jenny.  
  He almost didn't notice when Cookie and Red Regret took an elbow each and escorted him back to the coach. THOMB-OMP!ing all the way.  
  All he could think of was Jenny.  
  Beautiful Jenny.  
  
  "Something's gone wrong," said Three, standing guard over them in the library.  
  The Spine was next. He had walked out of his individual lessons to find them in the library. "Rabbit's in trouble, sir."  
  Then poor Four came in. Tottering along on his footless legs. "Big-gest bro-ther mal-func-tion. Pappy help?"  
  Peter put down his notes as Iris put down her sewing. Baby clothes, of course. Though some babies were bigger than others.  
  "How can you possibly tell?"  
  Only The Spine put his hand over his core. The other two pointed out the window.  
  "Big noise," said Three and Four.  
  "Feels different," said The Spine. "Scared."  
  And then they heard it.  
  A regular, rhythmic, bass thumping. Soft at first, but growing louder.  
  Growing closer.  
  "That's *Rabbit* making that noise?" Iris boggled.  
  "Aches," said The Spine. He was venting more steam than normal. His bellows pumped faster.  
  Without thinking, Iris handed him a piece of leftover red satin and her pincushion. "Try to calm down, dear."  
  The Spine sat and, with his focus on the needlework, at least stopped fretting so very obviously.  
  "Iris... beloved... We don't know what this is. Take Three and Four for a long walk in the estate. The further away from my lab, the better."  
  "Peter?"  
  "We don't know what it would do to you, or... the children."  
  Iris breathed out. "All right. Three? Four? We need to take a walk, together."  
  The bronze and brass automatons followed her like lost little ducklings.  
  "What is hap-pen-ing to Rab-bit?" asked Four.  
  "We'll find out, dear." Three helped her down the stairs, just as she helped Four. If there were any kind of free time, any time soon, she would talk to Peter about getting the poor automaton some proper feet. Watching him ascend and descend stairs on his own was an exercise in heart arrhythmia. How he managed to keep his balance on those legs was a mystery. Yet, because he didn't know what was possible or impossible, he walked without any kind of imbalance or impediment.  
  Iris hurried out of the house as the bass thumping drew closer.  
  
  Peter was waiting for them by the time they entered the gates. He could feel the bass pounding in his chest.  
  Cookie had her fingers in her ears. Margaret had stuffed her ears with twists of rag.  
  Peter hurried to get Rabbit upstairs. A task The Spine helped him with, because Rabbit was unfocussed in the extreme.  
  He was just... not paying attention.  
  For the first time in months, he had to coax his eldest son up the stairs and all the way into the work-slab.  
  Rabbit was sighing a lot. An anomaly in his bellows-engines? A misfire in his cooling program? And the distraction factor must mean that there was something going wrong in the information processors.  
  The Spine raced ahead to wait in the lab. Sewing something small and red. Fine work put his mind off his troubles and quelled his hyperactive boiler, but Peter sometimes wondered if such activities might... make him soft.  
  He already had enough trouble with Rabbit periodically claiming to be a girl automaton.  
  Peter absently whistled soothing nonsense for the twins and opened up Rabbit's maintenance plates. A tough job, because Rabbit kept turning his head the wrong way. He finally had to lock his servos, in the end.  
  "Sorry, my boy. I need to get into here," he murmured, shining a blue-matter-powered light into Rabbit's clockwork. Nothing amiss. Nothing going wrong. Nothing broken.  
  However, the mystery oil pump had commenced pumping. It was a vexing part of his automatons. Without it, the automaton just... didn't work. Not even with a piece of pipe in its place. With it... *it* didn't work. It just sat there.  
  Until, evidently, today.  
  "Hm!"  
  The Spine was suddenly looming over his shoulder. "What happen?”  
  "I'm rather foxed, myself. See if you can get Rabbit to respond to music-talk, eh? He doesn't want to hear me, right now."  
  Twit, twitter?  
  Chirrrrr...  
  That was an abnormally short vocalisation for Rabbit.  
  "Self not understand," fumbled The Spine. "Rabbit say, 'her name is Jenny'."  
  The ever-present THOMB-OMP!ing went faster for a pace of time, and Rabbit sighed.  
  Oh, he knew that sigh.  
  He'd given wing to some very similar sighs whenever poor Delilah had looked or smiled in his general direction. And he still sighed it whenever darling Iris performed one of her everyday miracles.  
  
  "Rabbit's *what*?"  
  "He's fallen in love."  
  "He's a year and a half old!"  
  "All right, so it's puppy-love. The thumping noise is that oil pump I could never get working. I've done what I can to soundproof the poor lad, but..."  
  "I can still hear where he is, yes," Iris frowned and shook her head. "Does this 'Jenny' know?"  
  "I doubt it. She's a toaster."  
  Iris stopped her pacing to stare at him. "A toaster."  
  "Yes. As far as I can divine, a shiny red one."  
  "Are we talking about the same thing, dear? Rectangular. Runs on electricity. Makes toast?"  
  "Yes. Apparently Jenny could hold six bagels. And she goes up to eleven."  
  Iris had to raise her eyebrows at that. "You have to admit, that sounds like a very nice toaster."  
  "Rabbit thinks so." Peter laughed and joined her on her promenade. "It may be just the thing to help him forget this nonsense about getting 'girl parts'."  
  Iris bit her lip about that. Stilled her tongue. Rabbit was both definite and persistent about being a girl. When she mentioned it. By and large, it didn't seem to matter, but there were moments... Moments when it seemed very important indeed.  
  And Peter, though she loved him, was very unworldly about the matter of same-gender love. It fit that he would also be unworldly about gender identity.  
  She would have to find a painless way to break it to him.  
  If she could also find a day without disasters.  
  "Maybe we should get Rabbit to take us to meet her," she allowed.  
  "Something to ponder..."  
  
  For the rest of the week, Rabbit would not shut down into Stasis. They tried to force the poor automaton, but none of their efforts stuck. Every night, when the metal men should have been resting in stasis while their self-maintenance systems re-set their bodies, Rabbit re-activated and, oil pump thumping, made his way down to the foyer to stare out the window.  
  When at their music lessons -which they hardly needed any more- Rabbit would hold whatever instrument he was given in a lacklustre way and absently go through the motions. His mind, forever, with Jenny.  
  Then came Saturday.  
  Iris wore a long capelet to cover her obvious proof of Peter's love, and made certain the ring on its chain was very prominently displayed on top.  
  Rabbit fussed with his clothes. Begging to know if they were 'spiffy enough' for an actual meeting-and-purchase of his beloved toaster.  
  Iris had to wonder if this was a bad idea.  
  But, Peter insisted.  
  The boys were neat. Peter was neat. Iris was... as presentable as she could get. Not two steps out of the coach, and she could already feel the harsh eyes of the local gossips raking over her every inch.  
  Searching for something to gossip about.  
  Rabbit insisted on paying for Jenny. And borrowed the money from his Pappy. No bag, no box. Jenny might stifle.  
  It was amusing for the onlookers, she had no doubt.  
  And then Rabbit started to sing. A happy little bouncing tune as he cuddled the toaster and danced a little jig for himself.  
  "Feels like I'm... on top of the u-ni-verse," Rabbit sang, "on a shoo-ooting star..."  
  This was... new.  
  "Peter, darling," she murmured, watching Rabbit cavort about.  
  "Yes, darling?"  
  "Are they meant to write songs, too?"  
  That got his attention. "That *is* a new song. Odd. Boys, have you been making new music?"  
  "A little bit," admitted Three.  
  "Is that bad?" asked The Spine.  
  "I do not know mu-sic," said Four. "I do not un-der-stand."  
  Iris twitched to still Rabbit. The copper automaton cavorted dangerously close to several displays, but bumped into none.  
  They got safely out of Sears while Rabbit was singing variations of "La da da dee."  
  It was the longest eight minutes of her life.  
  And then it all went very atrociously wrong.  
  Some mean-minded citizen stuck something between Rabbit's legs. A cane. An umbrella. Iris didn't look long enough to take note.  
  Rabbit toppled forward.  
  Jenny sailed through the air.  
  Both hit the ground with an alarming crunch.  
  The persistant thumping of Rabbit's oil pump stopped when he saw Jenny.  
  Shattered into a million pieces or more.  
  In the middle of the street.  
  "...should'a bought that warranty..." he murmured.  
  
To Be Continued!


End file.
